


Men on the Chessboard

by jane_potter



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Chess, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Multi, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-14
Updated: 2009-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_potter/pseuds/jane_potter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, everything is very simple: Bruce is the legend, Harvey is the lion, and Jim is the law; and if this is the sum of them, then they are nothing if not with each other. This thing between them-- whatever it is-- has bound them together for years, and all that's really certain is that both Gotham and they are better for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Men on the Chessboard

**Author's Note:**

> Written in slightly over 24 hours for the birthday of my hellacious beta lady_bathos, aka beautifulsilversilence. Terribly short notice and quite possibly just terrible, but there you have it... THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU ATTEMPT TO WRITE PORN FOR NINE HOURS STRAIGHT. It's pretty much straight smut-- the ultimate cheap, easy do-it-yourself gift that the DIY guides never tell you about!
> 
> ...Okay, not so much "easy". But still. I owe her a little sweat, blood and tears for all she does. *is ded*
> 
> Two more things:  
> A) Coffee tastes TERRIBLE when it's been sitting in the pot for eight hours and you drink it halfway watered down with milk and too much Splenda and take it cold because the microwave makes too much noise and would wake the rest of the house up at 1:30 AM.  
> B) ...I feel like a horrible specimen of humanity for writing porn while listening to the Schindler's List soundtrack. T_T

It just wasn't fair that Bruce was so damn good.

Double-teamed, distracted, even drunk, he still played the hell out of them, the black glass figurines of his chess pieces running circles around Jim and Harvey's white knights. When he was in good form-- rather, when he played without holding back-- Bruce could casually zigzag a single piece across the chessboard and scythe down half the white pieces like chaff in five or six moves.

In the beginning, they tried soccer. Bruce and Harvey dominated Jim in a matter of minutes, then spent another hour tearing up the manor's lawns as they fought for possession of the ball. Watching in impressed exasperation, Jim had thought Bruce would resort to martial arts as his patience ran out, but it was actually Harvey who threw the first punch. The soccer game degenerated into a kiss-wrestle that Bruce won, as ever.

The next time, they played rugby, as a sort of secession to the violence that was sure to happen whether or not it was in the rules. Jim sat out from the very beginning, wincing and laughing and drinking, then choking on his beer when he did all three at once. The game was even less of a success; it was a thinly-veiled pretense of sport over an extremely deep streak of competitive masochism, and Bruce and Harvey succumbed to angry dry humping on the ground before long. Jim had been eerily surprised at how _right_ it felt to sit kicked back on the porch that overlooked the manor's sunset-streaked back acres and just _watch_ with admiration as his lovers fucked in the grass, half-clothed and fully unleashed and so comfortable with everything that they completely ignored their audience.

They tried checkers, but couldn't take it seriously, and Bruce thrashed them both anyway. They tried Risk, which Jim proved surprisingly good at, but Harvey didn't have the patience for games that took so long-- a tedious legal case was an entirely different matter, but not a _game_. Bruce taught them both judo and karate, of course, but even if Harvey or Jim had felt the near-suicidal urge to spar against the goddamned _Batman_ , there was a deep well of ugly experiences in Bruce that would have made it impossible for him to ever see martial arts as a _game_.

So they played chess. Bruce played black without question; Harvey and Jim played white. They joked about the whole thing, punned it to death, but still took it so seriously that Jim was almost in awe at the ferocity of some of their matches, vicious desperate chessboard campaigns waged long into the night that led to hunched shoulders and sweaty temples and burning tired eyes, decisive hands and white-knuckled fists, glares that took every lost piece personally, shock and surprise and frustration at each turn of the battle's tide.

"Let's make it harder this time," Bruce said finally, one evening as they were lounging around the bedroom.

"By all means," Harvey invited, the slight bite in his voice recalling his annoyance with Bruce's uncanny winning streak.

Even without Harvey's temper, Jim felt the same way, although he could recognise the logic that Bruce was all definitions of a genius, his IQ uncharted and his tactical brilliance unmatched both on the chessboard and on Gotham's streets. Jim wouldn't have it any other way; Gotham would have been lost without Bruce's prodigal mind and body, his near-mythic perfection of intellect and muscle. It was just that it was a little... frustrating, to say the least, to be in a relationship with a man who was that good at _everything_. Just once, Jim wanted to be the best at _something_ , even if it was making grilled cheese sandwiches.

(But even Alfred admitted that was Harvey's area of expertise, his perfectly crisp golden-brown sandwiches as all-American as the blond, blue-eyed college boy smile that had made him famous, the trademark expression lasting even as wisps of premature stressed grey streaked his temples through crime waves and court cases and elections and politics and countless terms as Gotham's longest-lived DA ever.)

"How do you plan on doing that?" Jim asked, adding jokingly, "Play blindfolded?"

"For starters," Bruce said, and pulled out a long black scarf from beneath the pillow he was lounging on. Jim's jaw dropped. As if he hadn't noticed, Bruce tied the scarf over his eyes and continued, "And I'll play you both at the same time."

"Sure you're up to it?" Harvey asked, but he was already at the second chessboard in the corner, clearing away the half-finished game Jim had been playing with Alfred for the last two weeks. Grinning, Harvey dragged the board over to the middle of the room, in front of his armchair. Jim reset the pieces on the main board, littered with the remnants of the last feverish game.

"You think I'm not?"

"I think we should play for stakes," retorted Jim, "if you're so confident."

"Sounds fair," Bruce said mildly. "The usual?"

"One article of clothing for each piece lost," Jim confirmed.

"First one naked drops out and pays a penalty to whichever of the other two is winning," finished Harvey. He sprawled back in his chair, rolling his unbuttoned sleeves to the elbow and grinning that wholesome grin at Bruce, who of course couldn't see it. "Should we start on even terms?"

"Cufflinks don't count as separate garments this time," Jim snapped, remembering the last time they had played strip chess: still dressed from court, Harvey had lost the game spectacularly but still been most clothed at the end because he had taken off his tiny fussy accessories one at a time, and Jim had been naked before the game was half over because he had changed into sweats after work. "They're a set."

Harvey spread his arms in disbelief, his face full of _Who, me_? innocence that didn't work on Jim after so long, even if it still worked on every criminal and politician that still thought Harvey Dent was a good man. "Then suspenders come off in a full set, too," he shot back.

"As the least clothed party, I think I've got the say," Bruce interrupted, smirking in familiar exasperation. "We'll just start playing with what we already have on. Don't you dare put your socks back on, Harvey."

Harvey rolled his eyes and dropped the sock.

Bruce got to his feet from the bed with all the muscular grace of a panther. He padded over to the window as easily as if he had his eyes open, familiar with every inch of the room even blindfolded. Jim had once seen the extent of Bruce's nearly supernatural sense of his surroundings: via live night-vision camera feed, he had watched with admiration and total passive calm as Batman took down seven cocaine-high thugs in complete darkness, and he'd thought that Bruce was using his sonar gear. Jim had only panicked after the fact, when he had met Batman outside the warehouse and found that the cowl's lenses had been smashed in by a blow to the head, leaving Bruce not only without his technology but without even his _eyes_ , blinded by blood and fragments of glass dangerously close to puncturing his eyeballs.

"Whenever you're ready," Bruce drawled, sprawling back in the window's bench seat and turning his blindfolded face to the glass, gravitating to the warmth streaming in. Jim paused to take in the way the sunset lit up Bruce's face, picking out the stern lines bracketing his mouth and the strong line of his nose, miraculously unbroken after so many years because of the cowl's graphite armour; on the shadowed side of his face, fine threads of silver glowed in the thick dark mane at his temple. "White moves first."

 _That's a little stupid_ , Jim thought, _seeing as criminals always make the first move in real life_. But he exchanged a glance with Harvey and they made the silent decision, and Jim moved first, saying aloud, "Pawn six to F3." Bruce had doubtless already anticipated the move, seeing as that was Jim's opening move in every single game he'd ever played.

"Pawn three to C6," Bruce countered, and Jim moved the piece for him. He could already see Bruce's plan.

"Pawn one to A3," said Harvey. Planning to sneak past Bruce while he was distracted by Jim's pawn, then.

"Pawn four to D6." The gambit was transparent and totally unlike Bruce. Harvey and Jim exchanged a glance. _Did we get him this time_? Harvey's slanted eyebrow asked.

Two moves later, Bruce took them by surprise and captured Harvey's pawn. Harvey groaned and surrendered the piece from the board, discarding his watch onto the floor. Bruce smirked, and Jim realised he'd been aiming for Harvey's pawn all along-- even before the DA had made his first move.

Half an hour on, the boards were littered with pieces. Jim had lost his suspenders, shirt, watch and gun holster, while Harvey's captured pieces clustered in a veritable graveyard and he sat naked from the waist up. Bruce had toed off his slippers in exchange for two pawns that he had sacrificed for Jim's bishop, and removed his signet ring for a black castle that Harvey had given up four pawns to claim.

Mulling over his next move, Jim didn't look up when Bruce prompted eventually, "Your move, Jim."

"I know," he said absently, wondering how to save his queen from the pincer movement Bruce had lured her into. "Shh."

He didn't look up again until Harvey took a sharp breath of surprise, uttering, "What are you doing?"

Jim looked at the DA, wondering what he'd seen on Jim's board, but Harvey's eyes were fixed on Bruce. Jim followed his gaze and froze.

Lounging back in the window seat, one foot on the floor and the other leg bent up at the knee to prop his legs open in a casual slouch, Bruce was stroking himself through his jeans, fingers slow and sensual, indulgent. One corner of his mouth curled up in a lazy smirk.

Harvey's mouth fell open and he stood halfway from his chair, disbelief and want written all over his face.

"Let him distract himself if he wants," Jim said with some difficulty, looking back at his board. Suddenly he couldn't remember what he'd been planning to do. "We're still playing here."

Bruce laughed very softly as Harvey sat back down, shaking his head as if to clear it.

In the next flurry of moves, Jim saved his queen by inches, Harvey lost his belt and Bruce left a knight vulnerable to Jim. The commissioner took it without mercy, then rolled the black glass piece between his palms with a pensive frown, withholding the usual joke. "You did that on purpose."

Bruce peeled off his t-shirt with a smirk, ignoring his wristwatch and earring. Careful not to disturb the blindfold, Bruce threw his shirt aside and leaned back once more, purring, "Well, I needed an excuse and you two weren't really helping."

"So you're playing to lose?"

"Let me distract myself if I want," Bruce retorted, mimicking Jim. Smirking with self-satisfaction, he lifted one lazy hand to caress his chest, playing absently across the ragged stitches of a recent wound. Harvey sucked in a sharp breath as Bruce curled his fingers into claws, scraping blunt nails along the stitches, catching and tugging just slightly at his torn flesh. A quiver rippled down Bruce's lean flanks, and Harvey's expression went dark with hunger, the all too familiar undertow of violent intentions rising in his eyes.

"Harvey!" Jim snapped, and the blond's head whipped around to him, eyes blazing with annoyance. "Your move," he added shakily, into the silence.

Harvey's hand shook as he shifted a piece at random.

Breathing shallowly, Bruce ground the heel of his hand against his crotch, hips rising slightly. A sizeable bulge had grown, pressing against the fabric of his jeans. He palmed it slowly, squeezing and releasing with torturous self-denial. If there was one thing to be said about Bruce, it was that he never seemed to get enough of delaying gratification, his own or-- to their frustration-- Jim or Harvey's.

"Queen to E7," Bruce said, his voice the slightest bit breathy, and captured Harvey's last pawn.

Jim put his palms to his temples, trying to block out the rising premonition that they were going to lose spectacularly.

"Tell me, Harvey," Bruce said five minutes later, after having allowed Harvey's few remaining pieces to chase his dark army around in futile circles, easily evading Harvey's unplanned attacks that accomplished nothing, "are you trying to win for the game's sake, or just to get my clothes off?"

Harvey ground his teeth, staring fixedly at the board. Circling his left nipple with lazy fingertips, Bruce abruptly pinched it and twisted hard, holding the position once it seemed he had reached the limit of how far he could twist. His face flickered with pain, lips lifting just slighly to convey what would have been a grimace in a less disciplined man. Harvey made a muffled sound in the back of his throat, looking so agonised by being forced to _watch_ without touching; struggling with temptation, his eyes flickered back and forth between Bruce and the chessboard.

Jim nearly felt sorry for him, except that he knew very well that, one way or another, Bruce would make it worth Harvey's while, if only in the sheer relief for such a build up. Attempting to figure out how to marshal his pieces into some sort of defence, Jim actually lifted a hand to the side of his face, blocking out the sight of Bruce.

"Or maybe," the dark-haired man continued quietly, "you're actually trying to _lose_ , so that when you do, I can make you get on your knees in front of me, naked, and order you to pay whatever penalty I want."

Harvey moved, the scrape of his lone white knight against the board loud in the hush. "Second knight to E8," he choked out.

"First bishop to E8," Bruce murmured.

Face flushed red, Harvey stood and undid his pants. With a sideways glance, Jim caught a glimpse of the DA's erection straining against his boxers, a wet spot spreading dark on the satiny fabric. He smirked.

"Harvey, Bruce has the skill to play distracted," he murmured. "You don't."

"What's his face look like?" Bruce asked breathlessly, finally letting go of his nipple with a shudder. "Tell me, Jim. Is he hard?"

"I'm standing right here," Harvey ground out, lowering himself back into his chair.

"Well, _are_ you?" demanded Bruce, his hand beginning to move more urgently against his erection. Harvey's eyes were drawn immediately to the smooth pull and flick of his wrist, staring as if hypnotised. "Are you hard, Harvey? Do you want this? Are you watching me? Wanting me to do this to you right now? Wanting to just stop playing the game and have me bend you over the board, wrap my hand around you, fuck you dry and hard and make you come so hard you cry because _you lost_?"

" _I haven't lost yet_ ," Harvey snarled, but his face was contorted with simultaneous rage and want, and Jim could see the conflict in him, warring between the desire to beat Bruce and the craving to give in to the exact scenario Bruce had just described. Going stock still, Bruce held Harvey's stare as if his eyes were unblindfolded and open, his head canted challengingly. Frozen, breathless with tension, the tableau went on.

It was the most magnetic, most terrifying aspect of Harvey's personality, and one Jim had never been able to manage on his own, one he had always known was beyond his comprehension. Bruce alone seemed to be able to handle the fierce duality laying dormant in Harvey, more developed than Bruce's and even less controlled. Perhaps evident only to Jim, present to observe the most intimate of situations, Harvey would have gone over the edge a long time ago without Bruce.

"Your move, Jim," Harvey finally rasped, subsiding into his armchair as the rage in his eyes dimmed to a smoulder, present only in the tiniest glimmers of lust and anger.

 _And Bruce can't make_ that _go away_ , Jim reflected, shaken but undeniably aroused by the standoff between the two most violent and attractive men in his life, _but then again, neither he nor I_ wants _it to_.

Trying to clear his head, Jim said, "Second castle to B2."

The line of Bruce's throat bobbed as he swallowed, pressing hard against the purple-green centre of a large bruise on his ribs. "Pawn to F6," he panted. He ran the pad of his thumb down the seam of his jeans, forcing the thick material against his erection.

"Just take them off, why don't you?" suggested Jim, forcing his voice to remain light. In the other armchair, Harvey was gripping the edge of the board so hard his knuckles were white.

Bruce smirked, lips faintly pink where he'd bitten them. "Not until you make me," he said. "By the way, Jim-- that was your queen."

Jim looked down at the board and cursed.

"I'm not the only one distracted, then," Harvey taunted.

"Shut up and play," Jim muttered, wondering whether to surrender his undershirt or pants. Finally he pulled off the shirt, emerging with ruffled hair to watch Harvey edge his king out of the desperate check he'd been trying to elude for the past several moves.

"Knight to C3," Bruce murmured. "Check."

While Harvey fumed, puzzling desperately over his board, Jim edged his bishop into the way of one of Bruce's castles, which he had been using to lethal effect on Harvey's chessmen. Jim didn't want Bruce replicating the same stunt in their game. "First bishop to D5."

Bruce chuckled softly. "Nice try, Jim," he gasped, teasing the bruise with deliberate fingers. "Knight to F4."

 _Dammit. Now I either save my bishop from his knight and leave my castle open, or I lose the bishop and my pants_.

Silent and grim-faced over his board, Harvey said nothing for a long time. Finally, however, he seemed to come to some resolution with himself and sat back in the chair, sighing in defeat, "King to B7."

The shadow of a grin stole over Bruce's face. "Dark knight to B7," he murmured. "Checkmate and game. Come here, Harvey."

His mouth twisted in a crooked smile, Harvey took Bruce's knight and used it to topple his king. Getting to his feet, the DA walked over to Bruce with a distinctly limping gait. Jim muffled his snort beneath a hand, unable to help laughing despite his pity for the prominent and obviously painful erection in Harvey's boxers, all of them knowing full well that Bruce wasn't going to let Harvey get off for a long time yet.

Sensing Harvey's proximity, Bruce reached out a hand and felt for him, palm contacting the lean line of Harvey's hip. Curling his fingers around the waistband of the blond's boxers, Bruce dragged his hand inwards until he found the bulge pressing against the satin. Smirking triumphantly, he cupped and fondled Harvey's erection in his palm until Harvey groaned out loud, one arm snapping out to support himself against the wall. He thrust his hips forward needily, only for Bruce to jerk his hand back a second too fast. Making a faint tutting sound of admonition, Bruce gently lifted the elastic waistband of the boxers down and over Harvey's hips, letting his erection spring free without hardly touching it. The DA swore softly, breath hitching.

"Your move, Jim," Bruce reminded him breathlessly.

"I'm thinking."

"Not while you're watching this, you're not," muttered Harvey. Gripping the DA's elbow, Bruce pushed him to his knees, sliding big callused hands over Harvey's arms and shoulders as he sank downwards until finally Bruce found himself cradling the curve of Harvey's skull in his hands. He twined his fingers in Harvey's hair, thumbs brushing affectionately at the greying hair of his temples.

"Take as long as you like, Jim," Bruce said lazily. "Go on, Harvey. And keep your hands where I can feel them."

Muttering inaudibly, Harvey leaned forward and mouthed the bulge in Bruce's pants, teeth scraping over the fabric none too gently. Consigning his game to doom, Jim sat back to watch. He wasn't sure whether it was Harvey's tongue laving powerfully against his erection that made Bruce shudder, or the filthy things Harvey was still hissing beneath his breath, muffled against the vigilante's crotch but still audible to Bruce.

"First bishop to B3," Jim said finally, resigned to the loss of his castle. If he was lucky, the move would buy him some time and Harvey might distract Bruce enough to beat him.

His hands wandering up Bruce's legs, Harvey pressed and prodded until he heard Bruce stifle a hiss. With a small sound of satisfaction, Harvey gripped Bruce's muscular calf tightly, digging his fingertips into the bruise.

"God, yes," Bruce muttered, fumbling single-handedly for his fly. "Unh... knight to D5."

"Like that," Harvey hissed, nipping indiscriminately at Bruce's fingers when they got in the way of his mouth. "S'good for you? Like it when I bite... put me on my knees, get down and beg, lick at you like a dog... wanna push your cock in my mouth, make me take it--"

"Do it," snarled Bruce, his voice shedding octaves and plunging into the bass gravel-spit growl of Batman. Harvey choked back a gasp and scrabbled at Bruce's leg, his fingers pressing white-knuckled into the denim and bruised flesh.

Watching Bruce thrust into Harvey's open mouth, the thickness of his erection sliding past Harvey's lips until the blond gagged, Jim didn't realise he had let out a low groan until Bruce chuckled, turning his blindfolded eyes to Jim. The intent of the stare was piercing.

"Come on, Jim," Bruce urged, his low voice riding the ragged edge of pleasure and pain. "We're waiting on you."

It took a couple seconds to recall that Bruce was talking about the game. "Uh," Jim said, glancing back at the board. Suddenly, as the room filled with the obscene wet sounds of Harvey taking Bruce's cock to the back of his throat, uttering mindless hungry noises that got strangled in his business, the chess game seemed entirely irrelevant. "C-castle to, uh... to H7."

"Mmf," the dark-haired man gasped, lazily rolling his hips against Harvey's mouth and holding him in place with the hand at the back of his head. "God, you're good at this. Pawn to H7."

Jim stared at the board blindly, taking a couple seconds to realise he had just walked into the pawn while trying to evade Bruce's knight. He had completely forgotten the little piece's diagonal attack.

"I'm fucked," he said, standing to take off his pants. "Can I give up now?"

"Good to see you admit it," Bruce rumbled, grinning breathlessly. "But no, not right now, I'm a little busy enjoying Harvey, here. Fucking fantastic mouth. Ah, _Christ_."

"I taught him that," Jim said, throwing his pants onto the floor.

"Did you?" gasped Bruce. "God, oh... gonna have to, _uh_ , thank you for that. Beautiful mouth, perfect for this... You like it when I fuck your face, don't you, Harvey? Want me to push you down and use your perfect mouth. Bet you think about this in court, at work... I do, you know-- when I see you on TV, talking to reporters-- _uhn_ \-- talking to the cameras all taking your picture, I look at your mouth and I think about fucking it, all those reporters taking pictures of it and don't even know you've used that mouth to go down and blow me, Harvey, used it to suck Jim off while I fucked him from behind, used it to lick my balls while I deep-throated you-- _don't you take your hands off me, Harvey_."

Face screwed up in frustration, Harvey put his hands back on Bruce's legs, grabbing fistfuls of his jeans and smearing them with the precome that had dribbled onto his palms in the few quick strokes of his own cock he had managed to sneak.

"You want this so bad," Bruce whispered harshly, stilling his hips. One hand fisted in his thick blond hair, he pushed Harvey down on his erection, his cock sliding deeper and deeper into the DA's mouth with agonising slowness until he had forced Harvey to swallow it all, face buried in Bruce's crotch. The tiny gasps and chokes of Harvey's breath were easily audible in the silent room.

His face gone blank with enforced calm, Bruce held Harvey still in place and said softly, "Queen to G2. Check and mate."

Waiting for a reaction, Bruce canted his head in Jim's direction when one didn't come. Perched on the arm of his chair with one hand down the front of his boxers, stroking steadily as he drank in the sight of his lovers, Jim realised then that Bruce couldn't see that he had abandoned the chess game a good while ago.

"You win," Jim acknowledged, only a trifle shakily. "Bruce?"

"Hmm... yeah?"

"Bruce, let Harvey breathe."

The massive pressure of Bruce's muscular hands eased, allowing Harvey to lift his head and gasp for air, Bruce's erection sliding from his mouth with a slick-sounding noise that made Jim's cock twitch.

"Oh, come on," Bruce purred. "He liked it."

"A fact which bewilders me to no end," Jim said dryly. "But I thought we'd agreed not to choke Harvey while I'm in the room."

"So we did," agreed Bruce, petting Harvey's thick golden hair gently as the DA sputtered for breath, his expression full of agonising _need_ even as his eyes teared slightly from the rough treatment.

"Take these _off_ ," Harvey snarled, reaching up and yanking at Bruce's jeans. "Fuck, Bruce, you win! Touch me, Jim-- come on, just let me--"

In two strides, Jim had crossed the room and grabbed Harvey's wrist, dragging him to the bed. Stumbling, Harvey wrapped an arm around Jim and half pulled, half tackled him onto the mattress. His lips sought Jim's immediately, swollen and bitter with the taste of Bruce. Jim groped Harvey's erection roughly, causing the younger man to jerk in shock and then go limp; seizing the chance, Jim pushed Harvey onto his back, pinning him.

His weight like the crash of an avalanche, Bruce was suddenly above Jim, on top of him, the heat of his hard-on pressing against Jim from behind as muscular arms caged him in, lips searing the nape of his neck. The breath knocked from him, Jim collapsed forward onto Harvey, whose arms snaked up to yank Bruce's hair even as the DA bit at Jim's earlobe with savage affection. The three of them tangled together, gasps and moans muffled against welcoming flesh as every shift of position bumped somebody's erection.

Big capable hands trailing down Jim's ribs, Bruce nuzzled the back of his neck and murmured something warm-breathed and seductive into his hair. Ripples of arousal ran down Jim's spine when the brush of cloth on his shoulder told him that Bruce was still wearing the blindfold, sightless and naked and in close quarters with the two people he could never bring himself to hurt, as vulnerable as a man like Bruce ever could be.

Beneath him, Harvey whined and shifted, aligning their hips and sneaking a hand down, fumbling for either Jim's length or his own, caught between trying to be considerate and needing his own release. Bruce took care of the decision for him, catching Harvey's wrist and pulling it away.

"Shh-shh," the dark-haired man whispered. "You're still paying me a penalty for losing, aren't you? I didn't say you could come yet."

"Fuck," Harvey snarled helplessly, frustrated.

"Care to oblige him, Jim?" Bruce asked, his tone as light and teasing as it could be when his cock still pressed heavy and hard against Jim's thigh, the tremble of restraint in Bruce's powerful core barely tangible.

"Mm, yes," Jim said, leaning down and kissing Harvey, well prepared for the teeth that savaged his lower lip, the angry plying of Harvey's tongue. Propped up on his elbows, Jim stroked one hand over Harvey's hair, promising relief where Bruce taunted and endured and forgot that they couldn't take quite as much as he could. Shuddering as Bruce's presence vanished and the weight on him grew lighter, Harvey gentled, his lips warm and pliant against Jim's.

For all that he couldn't see a thing, Bruce handled the situation deftly. Moving confidently, his hands firm on twined limbs, he unwrapped them from each other, easing and urging with gentle persistence until Jim found himself on his back with Harvey straddling his hips. Bruce was spooned up to Harvey from behind, the smaller man pinioned against Bruce's chest by one powerful arm as a slicked finger slid into him. It was twisting and pressing with infernal precision if the jerking of Harvey's hips was anything to judge by.

Feeling vaguely vindictive, Jim caught Harvey's wrists and held them tightly, preventing the quick jerk and release Harvey wanted. Thwarted, Harvey snarled out loud, his eyes hazy with anger even as he gave a crooked smile of fondness at Jim's dogged patience. The commissioner merely smiled in reply, relishing the flare of real affection he had elicited in the midst of so much lust and blind need.

"Christ, you're still wearing your glasses," Harvey muttered dazedly. He responded almost sluggishly as Bruce guided him onto Jim's length, surprised that they were finally going through with something more than teasing, but came alive with a full-body shuddering rushing hiss of pleasure as he sank down on Jim, Bruce's hands pressing his hips down.

 _As if he_ needed _any more encouragement_ , Jim thought wryly, lifting his hips to force the last inch of his cock into Harvey's grasping heat.

"Go," Bruce growled, sniffing and mouthing at the slope of Harvey's shoulder like a man starving for sensation. "Go _on_ , Harvey. It's all you-- go on, fuck yourself on his cock. Show me how much you want it, how hard and fast you need to have it-- have it _in_ you--"

"Jesus," gasped Jim, sliding his palms up and down the flexing lines of Harvey's thighs. " _Nobody_ talks dirty like you do, Bruce."

"Sound like a fucking porn star," Harvey grunted, throwing his head back on Bruce's shoulder and baring his throat to the mouth that latched on immediately, suckling and kissing wetly. "S'at what you are? Whore, Bruce? Cocktease?"

Bruce rumbled a laugh. "Somebody's a little highly strung."

"Little _hard_ ," Harvey snapped, reaching back and digging his nails into the small of Bruce's back, where his muscles were still as hard as a plank but the skin was soft and rarely bruised, unconditioned against pain. The dark-haired man gave a shuddering gasp, surprise betrayed by the arch of his spine. "You _wonder_ why I'm-- uh, yeah-- feeling _tense_? _Fuck_ , Bruce, I need to _come_!"

"You think he deserves it, Jim?"

Pinned by the delight of Bruce's cut-amber eyes and the dangerous lightning-flash of Harvey's blue, Jim found himself with no choice but to take a shuddering breath and wrap his hand around Harvey's length, replying, "Well, it was _you_ that was saying how good his mouth was."

Jim ran his thumb over the head of Harvey's cock, swollen and pulsing with blood, and cupped his balls in his other palm. A gentle squeeze set off a spasm through Harvey's entire body, rocked like skyscraper foundations in an earthquake. Jim's eyes widened at the violence of Harvey's reaction; behind him, Bruce grunted in surprise and held Harvey more tightly, sinking his teeth into the DA's shoulder. Another slide of his thumb tore a howl from Harvey's throat, the broken keen drowning whatever words Bruce tried to mumble into Harvey's ear. Shocked, Jim met Bruce's eyes over Harvey's shoulder, both of them coming to a simultaneous conclusion.

Moving swiftly, Bruce slid his hands under Harvey's upper thighs, fingers digging into the skin hard enough to bruise, and bodily lifted him up. Their bodies moulded together, Bruce forced Harvey into a fast, hard rise and fall of skin against skin, his massive strength carrying the weight and effort of every surge that slammed Harvey down onto Jim's cock, meeting the upward snap of Jim's hips. Taken aback by the sudden double assault, Harvey found himself unable to do anything but dig his nails into Bruce's wrists and cling on for dear life, his breath forced out in a dry ecstatic sob at the jolt of every thrust.

"God, Harvey," Jim uttered fervently, stroking the other man as fast as he could, his palm rubbing slick with precome. "It's all right. G-go on, Harvey. God, you're am-- a-amazing."

The crash of Harvey's orgasm came almost without warning. Crying out like a wounded animal, he convulsed against Bruce's grip, just once, and then he was slumping and sobbing and trembling and Jim's hand was slippery with release. Within a matter of moments, his arms suddenly full of a boneless, thoroughly fucked lover, Jim clutched Harvey close and spilled into him, following him down the spiral of ecstasy with a quiet moan.

Almost before they had had time to sort out the shifting of limbs that had wound up in awkward places during orgasm, Bruce's hands were on Harvey's hips, dragging him from his pleasure-drunk haze on top of Jim.

"Bruce, wha-- oh Christ," Harvey moaned, all a fumble of sleepy limbs as he tried to steady himself in the position Bruce was demanding, his legs spread and hips lifted. In the end, however, he simply clutched at Jim and buried his face in the older man's chest, allowing Bruce to manhandle his sleep-drugged body.

Growling deep in the octave of Batman, Bruce slid easily into Harvey, still slippery with Jim's come. His shoulders hunched, head bowed, hands trembling with self-restraint on Harvey's hips, Bruce was the picture of a man unravelling at the seams.

"My God," Jim whispered in Harvey's ear, stroking his thick blond hair without taking his eyes from Bruce, "you should see him, Harvey. If you could see him..."

The first stroke was torturously slow, almost as if Bruce luxuriated in every punishing second of denial. On the wings of his stuttering inhale, the next thrust came more sharply, a faster plunge to the hilt.

"You're killing him," murmured Jim, as Bruce's teeth closed on his lower lip, stifling what might have been a curse. He didn't think Bruce could hear him. "You, your body-- he wants you so _bad_."

Against Jim's chest, Harvey stirred slightly, perhaps roused by his words. He panted something indistinct against Jim's collarbone. Jim could see every shift and shudder of Bruce's body, every second of his loss of control as he pushed harder and moved faster, tumbling down the incline of blind _need_ at exponential velocity. It wasn't until Harvey really _shifted_ , though, suddenly tensing and rising back against Bruce in a single breath-crushing blow that Bruce's control _snapped_.

With a hoarse snarl of, " _Fuck_ , Harvey!" in a voice that shouldn't have been used for sex but often proved the breaking point of his lovers, Bruce slammed into Harvey, the force of his thrusts shaking the DA so hard that his teeth rattled, bright flares of pain jolting through his skull. Rutting furiously, it was mere seconds until Bruce came, desperate noises torn from his throat that nearly verged on sobs of relief.

Suddenly finding himself buried in two-hundred pounds of exhausted muscle and sweat-slick limbs, Jim grunted with pain. "Bruce, off," he managed, fumbling for a body part to push on that seemed likely to elict the desired response rather than simply a tired groan.

"Dammit, Jim," Harvey muttered, sleepily slapping his hand away from his belly. He kicked in reponse, managing to hit Bruce's legs only the third time. Finally, snapping curses and fractured endearments in the same breath, they managed to arrange themselves in a comfortable, sated tangle beneath the blankets.

"Jim." Harvey's slur was a wash of warm breath over his collar bones.

"Hmm?"

"You're still wearing your fucking glasses."

Exasperated and fond despite himself at the endless list of things Harvey could find to snipe about, Jim pawed his glasses off with a clumsy hand and threw them aside. Bruce snorted sleepily as they clattered to the floor.

"Jim," he mocked in a whine, "Harvey's in my space."

They hit him at the same time, fists connecting and drawing an uncensored 'oof' of breath from Bruce, as the only two men in the world who could hit Batman so casually.

"You're both mean to me," Bruce continued, clearly not caring to heed the caution. Then he yelped as Harvey bit into his earlobe, catching the diamond stud of his earring with sharp teeth.

"Don't even _try_ that line right now," he warned, incredulity in his voice. " _We're_ mean to _you_?"

"Fuck, some days I wonder why I put up with you two," Jim groaned. Pulling away from the other two, he rolled over and tried to steal a share of the blankets for himself. Almost immediately, however, he found Bruce and Harvey dragging him back to them, the strength of their young muscles inescapable.

"Because I give good head," Harvey murmured, flicking the shell of Jim's ear with his tongue.

Jim rolled his eyes and resettled the covers more comfortably. "If only you used your powers for good."

Harvey hummed something unintelligible beneath his breath and nuzzled Jim's neck muzzily. "Don't I?" he mumbled. "I love you. That's pretty good."

"Love you, too," Jim whispered.

"Love you both," Bruce muttered, his grumble almost entirely contrived. "But if you don't mind, some of us have night jobs that involve getting up in three hours."

Chuckling softly, Jim reached over to the bedside table and turned out the light.

He knew there was nowhere in the world safer than the darkness that fell over scattered chess pieces and three slow, slumbering breaths.


End file.
